


Sinners and Saints

by ohmytheon



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Character Study, F/M, Gen, Havocai Friendship, Near Death Experiences, Parental Roy, Parental Royed - Freeform, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-07-08
Packaged: 2018-07-11 20:36:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7069075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmytheon/pseuds/ohmytheon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A character study in which each chapter focuses Roy Mustang and how he embodies the seven deadly sins alongside the seven heavenly virtues. How can one man be so complicated and display such contradictory behavior?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. lust/chastity

**Author's Note:**

> Because I honestly can’t seem to help myself and I’m an absolute mess when it comes to FMA and Roy… I talked about doing this a long time ago, but then ended up getting distracted by all my other writing projects. I sat down to start on this for something else, but then it turned into this. Basically there will be seven chapters, two parts to each, all written in one quick sitting, centered on Roy and how he embodies the actual seven deadly sins and the seven heavenly virtues. Because I clearly don’t write about Roy Mustang enough as it is. Um, I didn’t expect this to get so…nsfw. But then what else should you expect from lust, right? Here it is, the smut I accidentally wrote and the first chapter to this quick endeavor. More tags will come to follow as I write the next chapters. I'm not quite sure what they'll be yet.

i. _lust_

It’s two in the morning and just enough whiskey is coursing through his veins for him to forget that this is a terrible idea. How can it be so terrible when it feels so good though? It’s getting harder for him every day to remember a time when he didn’t want this - when he didn’t want her. He’s been with her long enough to hear nearly every inflection of her voice, to know recognize exactly what she’s thinking by the way she speaks, to understand her discomfort or amusement or anything in between by a simple hum.

But he’s never heard her moan like this before and it’s driving him up a wall. This is an entirely new sound that shakes him to his core. He presses a lip to her pulse line on her neck as he swipes a thumb over her bra and she pushes her center into his thigh and lets out the most pleasurable sound that he could ever imagine. It’s not enough. He wants more. He can’t hear this sound only once.

After all, if this is a new sound that he’s hearing from her, what other new sounds can he find and elicit?

They shouldn’t be doing this. A voice in the back of his mind hazily mumbles concerns. He pushes it aside as he slides downward, pressing his lips over the exposed skin of her chest and flat stomach. They really shouldn’t be doing this in his apartment. What’s she doing here anyways? They’ve been so careful for nearly a decade. Tonight was nothing special. She just picked drove him home from the bar. Did she even have anything to drink besides water?

Her hands tremble as she slides her fingers through his hair and he kisses where her hips meet her stomach. A jaunty sort of breath is dragged out of her as she twitches under his light kisses, and he knows that she’s ticklish there. He didn’t know that before. How did he not know?

Since it’s a practical piece of clothing, her skirt is easily undone and he guides it to the floor as he runs his hands down her toned legs. Her fingers dig into his scalp as he moves to kiss each side of her thighs. He’s done this before. Not to her, of course. She may be the only one to occupy his heart, but she isn’t the first to taste. He won’t lie about being pure, not to her. Most of his dates were covers to gather intel, but some of them, well, they satiated him for a time.

None of them were blonde though. He tried not to think about that. Usually failed. At least he never said her name. He never said names though, even if he managed to bring a woman to call his. It was never the right name, never the right voice, and he couldn’t figure out why for the longest time.

When he rids her of her underwear, she starts to breathe heavily. He’s teased her enough for her to already be worked up into a frenzy. It’s hard not to grin as he lazily tastes her for the first time and she jerks under his light touch. Before she can even admonish him for being slow in this, he grips one of her legs and throws it over his shoulder so that he’s given complete access to her center. She cries out at the unexpected intrusion of his tongue as she struggles not to buck into him, like she doesn’t know what to do with her hips.

He wonders, as he slides his tongue over her, if she has ever let anyone do this to her. Tries not to think about it. Fails. He’ll be better. The whimpers that tumble out of her and moans that reverberate in her chest cause him to groan and grip her ass even tighter. Such glorious new sounds. He didn’t think she could ever sound like this, but he’s delighted and absurdly turned on. Somehow, even though the cries make it sound like she’s at the mercy of his tongue, they also sound like a command, each one urging him forward to finish what he started. She grips him tighter, pulling at his hair, refusing to let him go before the job is done.

Honestly he’s more than happy to not slack this time.

“Oh, oh, _oh_ -”

It’s not enough. He wants more. He wants to hear her say it. Focusing on her swollen clit, he pushes a finger inside of her, then two, and begins to pump dutifully. God, he’s so hard that he can barely think about anything but wanting to be inside of her, but she won’t let him stop and he doesn’t want to. He needs to hear something that he’s only been able to fantasize about but never get quite right.

She tenses up and then begins to jerk her hips wildly, not caring about the position they’re in. “Oh, god, I need you - I need you inside-” One hand jerks on his hair as another slaps against the wall. “ _Roy_.”

It’s a mixture between a whimper, moan, and cry, but his name is dragged out of her mouth and a shiver goes down his spine. No one has ever said his name in such a way, least of all her, and it’s just enough to make him lose control. Even as she rides through her orgasm he doesn’t stop.

He pulls himself up, kissing her skin without abandon, until he captures her lips again. It’s nowhere near as gentle as he was before. He also doesn’t stop touching her, sliding his wet fingers out of her to rub her clit again. From the little noises she makes, he can tell that she hasn’t descended all the way. Greedily, he wants more. She always did say that he wanted too much.

“Again,” he growls into her lips, practically demands it of her, “ _again_.”

Whether it’s to come again or say his name, he isn’t exactly sure, but he doesn’t let up from touching her until he gets both, her moans resonating in his chest. He brings her to peak twice more like this, pressing his body up against hers into the wall, refusing to give her even a moment of respite. After the fourth time and she shows no signs of being worn out by him, he can’t take it any longer.

“Roy,” she groans, and it seems that neither can she.

He takes her to the bed. They don’t get to sleep until six in the morning.

*

ii. _chastity_

He sees her by happenstance.

She doesn’t frequent this area of town very often unless she’s with the team and even then she does her best to keep an appropriate distance between them. It’s never want he wants, but exactly what he needs. For the most part, he can handle having her close to him. The subtle smell of gunpowder and coconut shampoo doesn’t overwhelm him; her lips as they move don’t tantalize him; the way her eyes will flicker to his doesn’t send his heart racing. They’ve been pressed up against one another before while on a mission and he didn’t forget himself then.

Every now and then though, on a seemingly innocuous night, his blood will start to boil if she gets too close to him. His hand will linger on the small of her back for a little too long and she’ll take a deep breath. They’ll connect eyes and his own dropping down to look at her lips. A whiff of her favorite simple perfume that Catalina got her for her last birthday will send him into downing his drink.

She recognizes the signs and always keeps away. She gives him the proper space. He thought he was doing well. He hadn’t had any difficulties lately with her. Things were running smooth. They honestly didn’t happen very often, but when they did, his frustration turned high key. And then he jokingly said something that made her blush at work and he got lost in thinking of all the other ways he could make her blush.

Big mistake. He’s an idiot.

When he gets like this, he knows exactly what he needs to do. He puts on a nice outfit, heads to his second favorite bar (because he can’t go to Madam Christmas’ like this - she’ll torture him), sits down at the bar, and waits. It’s not long after he gets his first drink that a beautiful young lady sidles up next to him, apparently put out because her date stood her up. Can she join him instead? Of course, of course. Roy grins and gives his condolences while appreciating his good fortune in meeting her. She smiles coyly, holding her hand out to daintily take his. He kisses the top of hers unexpectedly. She giggles. Really not that difficult.

The night goes on like that for two hours or so. He buys her a few drinks. She’s flirtatious, but not to the point where it’s aggravating. He responds back in kind, but never over the top or too dirty. They both seem to know what they’re about and where they want this evening to go, but the game is still played. He likes the game. It’s fun and exciting and most importantly very distracting.

Just when he’s about to take things a step further, when her hand is sliding up and down on his thigh underneath the bar, he catches a glimpse of blonde hair from out of the corner of his eyes. He couldn’t say how he knows it’s her - plenty of women in Amestris were blonde - and yet even though he only saw it for a second, he knows.

Out of all the bars she could come to, out of all the nights, there is Riza, standing at a high top table.

Unlike the woman sitting next to him and currently close enough to sit in his lap, Riza is not dressed in a revealing outfit. Her bust into close to spilling out of her nice blouse. The skirt is a little shorter than normal, but not enough to reveal a holster if she’s wearing one. She wears one when she goes out with the team, if only in case to protect him. Does she wear one when she’s not around him?  He wishes he could find out.

He tries to return his attention to the dark-haired woman in front of him, but it’s difficult. His eyes keep dragging over to Riza whenever the woman isn’t looking at him. Without meaning to, he starts to pull his hands away from her. He begins to talk less and less as she continues on without a clue. Every time he glances over at Riza, he keeps worrying that she might see him - or even worse, someone might join her. What’s she doing here alone anyways? He’s never seen her in this bar before. Why is she here? (Why isn’t he with her instead?)

What if she’s on a date?

Despite the fact that he’s half in to sleeping with the woman sitting next to him, his mind reels at the thought of Riza being on a date. Just when he feels fit to storm up to her or run out of the bar, Catalina pops up from behind her and gives her a hug. Catalina hands Riza a drink and then starts to talk animatedly about something. He deflates slightly. It’s not a date. It’s a girls’ night. Catalina probably suggested this place.

The immense relief is almost palpable, but also incredibly sobering.

He was worked up over the idea of Riza being on a date while he was trying to score a one night stand. What kind of sleezy asshole does that make him?

“Roy,” the woman purrs, “it’s getting quite late, wouldn’t you say? Care to walk a lady home? It’s so scary out there alone; a soldier’s company would really make me feel safer.”

“I…” He blinks and smiles a little too slowly. Luckily she’s had enough alcohol to not notice it. “Yes, of course.”

They slip out of the bar without Riza or Catalina noticing, something that he is very much grateful for. He didn’t think he could handle seeing Riza’s reaction if she did. (He knows what Catalina’s would be: furious and disgusted. He feels it much himself, if he’s being honest.) The walk to her place is silent, uncomfortable on his part and unnoticed on hers, as she slips her arms around his and leans into him. She doesn’t live too far, but he doesn’t need a lot of time to figure out that his night has gone completely off course in just a matter of seconds.

“Join me for a nightcap?” she asks, already knowing the answer, a coy smile on her face suggesting anything but that.

He smiles at her. Leans down. She closes her eyes in anticipation. He kisses her on the cheek.

“I’m afraid I’ve got an early day tomorrow. Thank you for the wonderful company tonight and goodnight.”

It appears, judging from the shocked look on her face, that she did not know the answer.

He turns and leaves her standing on her doorstep and doesn’t bother to look back when he slips out of the gate and starts down the street. His mind is already far away from her, latched onto someone else. A mixture of feelings rush through him, but none of them are terrible, which is strange in itself. He doesn’t feel the relief he planned on from wringing out the frustration pent up in him, but he feels…relieved at having not gone inside with that woman. She was everything he wanted until he realized that she wasn’t. He feels bad about leaving her like that, but she would’ve been grateful had she known how he feels right now. She isn’t what he needs or even who he needs.

It’s not fair of him to substitute one woman for another when all it ever does is make him feel even more hollow afterwards.

When he passes the bar again, he sneaks a glimpse inside through the window. Riza is sitting at the bar now, a tired but amused look on her face, as Catalina chats with a tall handsome man next to them. She stirs her drink idly as she moves to look around the place. By the time her eyes reach the window, he is gone, heading towards his empty apartment, and she only sees the streetlamp glowing dimly outside.

He doesn’t return to that bar for a very long time, even when he does find himself frustrated. He can’t bring himself to do so. It’s perhaps more punishment to go to Madam Christmas’ and go home alone afterwards, but he also feels a little less like hating himself. It’s a strange feeling, not feeling that vague distaste. It feels even better when Riza peers at him the next day and seems to just know what he’s doing. Yes, it’s a good thing, he decides, being alone sometimes.


	2. wrath/patience

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to post this chapter this morning until I realized that I only had 10 minutes to get to work. My bad! I should apologize twice though because the first part and second part are completely different. I didn’t mean for the first part to get so angsty, but you all know how MUCH I enjoy writing about Roy’s anger. Also this was supposed to only be in Roy’s POV, but the first part wouldn’t work. The second part is such a huge contrast, featuring more parental!Royed. I don’t even know how this happened. Blame the muse.

iii. _wrath_

His rage is chilling to the bone. It’s cold and precise. Someone that didn’t know him might think he was out of control, a wildfire ready to explode, but she knows better. He doesn’t let himself go like that - refuses to allow it - and instead will focus all his anger into a single white hot pinpoint of destruction. There’s precision to his flames, the way he can manipulate them to wrap around someone like a chokehold and not touch anything else in the room. Every explosion is contained and each target is specific.

Riza shivers despite the heat, but she doesn’t know if it’s because of what she’s witnessing or the blood currently spilling out of her from a gunshot wound.

 _Stupid,_ she thinks, as she presses her hands against her side. Her hands are red, even redder than his flames. She raises her head, tries to shout out to him, but the words don’t come out of her mouth. She didn’t have this much difficulty speaking when her throat was slashed on the Promised Day? How is this worse?

She feels hands on her and then she’s pulled onto her back, wincing in pain. Havoc’s face hovers over hers and she sees his lips moving, thinks he’s saying something like, “Hang in there!” but she can’t be for sure. All she can hear over the sound of blood pounding in her ears is the sound of flames. It has such a unique sound; it reminds her of wind as the flame greedily feed off the oxygen he is able to manipulate.

Desperately, using all her strength, she reaches out, blood dribbling out of her at a faster rate without the added pressure. Havoc curses as his hands take her place on the wound. “Stop…” she manages to choke out. Her hand wobbles. Blood drips onto the concrete. “…stop…”

“I’m trying, I’m trying,” Havoc says, nearly cries. The fire glows in his bright blue eyes and she thinks she sees a film of tears covering them. Panic is written all over his face. She’s getting blood on his uniform. How many times was she shot? Once? Twice? “Damnit, please, I’m trying to stop the bleeding, but I don’t…”

She puts her hand on her gun, but she can’t get her fingers to grip the handle. Unable to pick it up, all she is able to do is scoot the gun towards Havoc until it hits him in his thigh. They connect eyes and she forces hers to not waver, even as he fades in and out. “Stop…him,” she orders through gritted teeth.

Havoc blinks, fear in his eyes. He must’ve looked like this after Lust paralyzed him. Lying there, bleeding out from the entrance and exit stab wounds, unable to move, knowing that he was going to die. She didn’t think she would ever see such terror in Havoc’s eyes, not his, not directed towards her. But then, when his gaze flickers to the man standing in front of them, wielding vicious and unforgiving flames, the fear doesn’t go away.

She knows what this is. She knows how he is. She doesn’t have the strength to stop him.

Shaking his head, Havoc puts his hands on hers and shoves the gun away. “I can’t-” His voice chokes.

She pushes it back, unrelenting and dying and oh so tired. She can’t let him ruin himself like this; she’s supposed to protect him, even from himself.  “Havoc, you-”

“Riza, I’m not you!” Havoc’s eyes are wild and terrified, but there is a shadow of shame in them. “I’m not you. I can’t do what you can.” He bites his lip and looks away from her. “Not when I feel the same.”

 _Stupid,_ she thinks again.

“Up,” she says out loud, knowing full well that she shouldn’t be moved.

Havoc opens his mouth to protest, but the flat look she gives stops him cold. Carefully, doing his best not to jostle her too much, he helps her to her feet. It takes more strength than she’s capable of. She doesn’t know where it’s coming from and it’s hard to focus. Maybe it’s shock or adrenaline. With Havoc basically holding her up completely, she grits her teeth again and holds up the gun, shakily aiming it at her target. She doesn’t have the strength to speak louder than a whisper.

And so Havoc does it for her. “Stop it, Mustang! Goddamnit, just stop it, man!”

At first, he doesn’t. Another loud explosion ravages the building, finally collapsing the third floor. She’s never seen him cause so much severe destruction before. Wasn’t that always Edward’s way? He didn’t blow up the building right away and instead forced his flames to snake their way through the hallways. Once a scream was heard, he would step forward and take deliberate aim. He isn’t making this quick. The rest of their team and a few other soldiers are hunkered down behind anything they can find, hiding and scared out of their wits. Hiding from him and not the men that were shooting at them moments ago.

He never says a word. His face is cold, reminding her of when he faced down Envy. When he looks back at them, that same dead hateful look in his eyes, Havoc stumbles and takes a step back. She nearly drops the gun in her hand from the sudden movement, but she doesn’t look away from him.

 _Stop it,_ her eyes plead. _You’re murdering them._

She wants to cry out. She can’t.

 _They were dead the second they shot you,_ his dark eyes seemed to say in return.

She doesn’t know if it’s on purpose or she loses her grip, but she squeezes off a shot. The bullet hits the ground uselessly at his feet, kicking up concrete. He doesn’t blink or hesitate. Havoc grips her tighter. She can feel him closing in on himself, but he won’t let her go. Why can’t he let her go? They need to let her go.

When they were teenagers, she never saw him angry for the first two years of his apprenticeship. He never lost his temper. He was filled with good humor and didn’t let anything get him down, except for the occasional put down from her father or when he was disappointed in himself. She wondered what might set him off, when it would happen. Those first few months were terrifying. Surely he would snap at her for something, as her father did, as other former short-lived apprentices did. But he never did.

Until one day he came to walk her home from school and witnessed one of her classmates bullying her. He might not have done anything until the boy put his hands on her and shoved her hard enough to the point where she tripped and fell in the road, scraping her elbow and bruising her hand. Before she could even say anything, he was there, gripping the boy by the collar, and punched the kid right in the face just once and bloodied his nose.

 _“Don’t you ever lay a hand on her again,”_ he spat coldly, dropping the boy to the ground and glaring down at him in a way that reminded her of a tower, _“or a bloody nose will be the least of your problems.”_

She knew then that his temper was something to fear. His eyes softened when he looked at her and helped her back to her feet. She didn’t know whether to be terrified of him then, even if he was defending her. She knows not to be now. Never terrified, never of him, but perhaps for him, yes, she could be. He never loses control of his flames when anger grips him, but he can lose himself.

“Stop,” she says in a whisper, so quiet she knows that he can’t hear her. He knows though. He knows exactly what she said to him. He doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t flinch. She’s not even sure he’s breathing. Her finger itches towards the trigger again. Tears don’t come to her eyes and she doesn’t look away.

And then she sees it. A flicker of something in his eyes. Something warm. Something that is able to break through the iciness of his rage. Him. She sees him again in the black of his eyes and it’s the brightest thing she can imagine. The gun slips through her fingers, too wet from her blood and her grip too weak. It clatters to the ground. He drops his hand to his side.

She is able to breathe again and almost smiles as her vision begins to fade. The last thing she sees is Roy rushing towards her. It’s enough. She couldn’t handle it if the last thing she saw was his wrath.

*

iv. _patience_

Honestly, Roy rather thinks it’s a testament to his strong-willed patience that he doesn’t even flinch when Ed kicks open the door of his interior office and storms inside. Standing up straight and turning away from the papers she was going over with him moments before, Riza arches an eyebrow at the young alchemist but says nothing. She has never once corrected Ed on his rude, bordering on insubordinate, behavior towards his commanding officer, though she is quick to point it out in others.

Most people would think it’s the kid’s age, but Roy knows different. He knows that even someone as tough as nails and strict as the Hawk’s Eye can have a soft spot for someone.

Plus, it works to his advantage. Ed likes Riza. He respects her and is fond of her. When she tells him something, he actually listens without complaint. She’s never even had to put the fear of god in him like she does some other soldiers in the military when they step out of line. All of which comes in handy when Roy has to deal with him. Because that kid is anything but easy to manage as far as Roy is concerned. He gave men younger than Roy gray hairs.

Patience isn’t limitless, and Ed was doing his best to drain Roy’s well dry quickly.

“Ah, Fullmetal, what a pleasant surprise,” Roy greets in a blandly amiable voice, the kind of tone he uses at those neighborhood barbeques that Hughes drags him to sometimes in hopes of finding him a girlfriend. It’s also the kind of tone that pisses Ed off. He doesn’t like it when people use Adult Tones on him. It amuses Roy to no end. It does not amuse Riza. “I thought you weren’t due back in for another day.”

“What kind of cruel joke is this, Mustang?” Ed demands, waving a crumpled piece of paper in his automail hand.

Lacing his fingers together, Roy props his chin on his hands, elbows on his desk. “As I’m not a mind reader, I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“This!” Ed practically screeches, his voice doing that high-pitch thing that happens during puberty. Despite the fact that he’s the equivalent of a major in the military and a State Alchemist, his body doesn’t seem to give a damn and is still treating him like a fourteen year-old boy. He stomps towards them, looking fit to murder someone, and slams the paper down on his desk, knocking a manila folder off the table. Riza frowns slightly, but Roy doesn’t blink or look away from Ed. “What the hell is this?”

Picking up the offending piece of paper, Roy flicks it open and quickly surveys the contents. Not exactly what he was expecting, but it’s a struggle to keep himself from grinning like an idiot. Just when he thought his weekend was going to be sour, it turns out that it’s going to be entertaining.

“I believe,” Roy says coolly, “that it’s an invitation to the fundraiser for the State Alchemist Program this Saturday.”

“Invitation?” Ed seethes. “It says it’s mandatory for all State Alchemists!”

Roy smiles. “Not all of them - just the ones in the vicinity.”

Ed folds his arms across his chest. “Then why did I get a call informing me that I needed to return here asap?”

“Because, as I’m sure you’re already aware, you’re not just any State Alchemist,” Roy points out. Even though it’s one of the closest things to a compliment that Roy has given him, Ed doesn’t seem impressed. Instead, he folds in on himself even more, as if he can’t trust his ears right. Roy Mustang complimenting him? Certainly not. Roy doesn’t miss a beat though. “As the two youngest alchemists to take the exam, both of us are required to go. Not to mention that there’s no one that outclasses me.”

Jumping from a subtle compliment to bragging about himself causes Ed to snort. He narrows his eyes at Roy, trying to discern whether or not he’s lying or if there’s a way he can get out of going to the fundraiser. Roy can see his brain working overtime, if only because he thought the same exact things when he received his own so-called invitation. At his side, he can feel Riza’s gaze on him, warning him not to aggravate Ed even further.

Roy isn’t going to say something to set the kid off though. He likes to take his time in winding Ed up into a frenzy. It’s truly one of his favorite things to do. See, this is why he tells Hughes that he wouldn’t be a good father. What kind of parent would torture their kid this way?

“Do you have anything nice to wear?” Roy asks. “Any dress clothes?”

Having not thought the entire thing through yet besides “how in the hell do I get out of this?”, Ed’s cheeks turn pink. Considering he wears nearly the same tacky get up everywhere, the answer is probably no. Luckily he’s got enough money in his State Alchemist funds to pay for some nice clothes. Everyone needs to have at least one outfit for a special occasion, just in case, or so Madam Christmas always told Roy when he was growing up.

“We should probably arrive together,” Roy surmises thoughtfully.

Ed starts at that. “Together? Why would I want to go with you? What’s that supposed to mean anyways?”

“You’re my subordinate,” Roy says, “and as the officer that recruited you and is your commanding officer, I need to make sure that you don’t do anything stupid.”

“Stupid?” Ed unfolds his arms to point an accusing finger at Roy’s face. “You’re the one that needs to worry about doing something stupid. You’ll probably get drunk and flirt with some General’s wife or daughter and get in trouble.”

But Roy shakes his head. “I won’t do that, not while I have a date.”

“A…date?” Ed looks confused for a second, like he doesn’t know what a date actually entails. Hell, maybe he doesn’t. He’s still a kid after all. He’s probably never been on a date before or even thought about asking someone out.

Roy tilts his head sideways to look up at Riza and grin at her cheekily. “What color do you think the Lieutenant will look better in: a red and green silky dress?”

In response to that comment, Riza merely rolls her eyes and says nothing of the matter. She’ll be in her military uniform most likely, considering that she will be there acting as his adjutant and bodyguard (and not his date), but a man could dream after all. Ed, on the other hand, turns full on red as he sputters, unable to get an actual sentence or even full word out of his mouth.

And finally, having reached the crescendo of his game, Roy turns back to focus on Ed and says in his most earnest voice, “It would probably be a good idea if you brought a date too. Why don’t you call your automail mechanic? Winry Rockbell, isn’t it? She seems like a sweet girl.”

“I would– Winry is– I can’t–”

Ed loses it. He can’t even figure out an insult to come back with to turn on Roy. His mind races as he imagines a hundred horrible situations. In his fourteen year-old mind, he’s probably stuck with visions of him being stuck Roy and Riza while they subtly flirt with one another, much to his embarrassment and horror, or calling up Winry to ask her and having her say no – or even more terrifying, her saying yes. He’s so confused about what he might actually want that he panics and his brain shuts down.

It takes literally every ounce of strength in Roy to not burst into laughter.

Unable to do or say anything else, Ed rushes out of the room with Roy calling after him, “Get some nice clothes and be sure to be at my office an hour before the event!”

Once the two of them are alone, Roy leaning back smugly in his chair, Riza sighs. “Was it completely necessary for you to tease him like that?”

“He’s going to have to own up to being in love with that girl one day,” Roy replies, shrugging his shoulders. “What’s wrong with giving him a little push?”

“A little push? I think you nearly gave him an aneurysm.”

“Well, sometimes you need to be pushed into the abyss when it comes to admitting your feelings.” When Roy returns his gaze back to her, Riza gives him a shrewd look, like she knows exactly what he’s trying to imply, but she is not going to fall for his charms. Roy gives her a lopsided grin. She has never once made things easy for him. She forces him to wait, forces him to be patient when sometimes he wants to rush head into things. It’s a pain. But that’s who they are. Their lives revolved around waiting, did it not? “So, what are you thinking - red or green? I think a green dress would really bring out the flecks in your eyes.”

Luckily, Riza has an endless amount of patience when it comes to him or she probably would’ve shot him already.


	3. Envy/Kindness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly don’t know where this came from. I wasn’t planning on writing for this fic today and yet here we are with the third installment. Sometimes I just want to write about Roy (okay all the time) and this has been an interesting way, for me at least, to do it. I like character studies. Also, I like an excuse to write Hughes and even more parental!Royed.

_iv. envy_

It hits Roy like a punch to the gut when he watches Elicia toddle through the door, the biggest smile on her face, squealing at the top of her tiny lungs. She trips over her feet, toppling forward, but Hughes scoops her up effortlessly, like it was meant to happen that way. He swings her in the air, cooing at her in some ridiculous voice, and then pulls her close to his chest so that he can press kisses all over her face. She giggles, cries of “Daddy, Daddy!” ringing in the air, and wraps her arms around his neck as best as she can.

As she nuzzles into his neck, Hughes looks back at him and waves a hand. “Come on inside, Roy! Gracia almost has dinner ready.”

To be honest, going inside of Hughes’ apartment is one of the last things that Roy wants to do, but he finds himself walking inside anyways in something of a daze. He blinks when he hears the door shut behind him, not quite sure how he got in here, and turns to see Hughes grin at him and brush past him. What is he doing? He doesn’t belong in here. This is… This isn’t his element. He doesn’t know what to do or say.

(He thinks of Hughes passionate statement back in Ishval - how he was going to swallow down every horrible thing he did in the War and smile when he was with her. He would do it for her, be the man she loved for her, even if he didn’t always feel like he was that man himself. Roy doesn’t think he has that sort of strength.)

“Daddy’s home!” Elicia exclaims. She’s just now starting to string sentences together. Hughes swears on his life that potty-training her is the cutest thing in the world, although Roy doesn’t see how that’s possible. Even though she’s tiny to him, she’s grown a lot since he last saw her. She wasn’t been able to run like that before, even if she doesn’t seem all that stable now.

Gracia peers out from the kitchen, looking beautiful and kind as ever, and meets Hughes with a kiss. He nuzzles noses with her in such a cute, little way. The smile on Hughes face is almost too bright. Their interaction with each other makes Roy squirm and look away, hands locked together in front of him holding onto his military hat.

“Is that Roy Mustang?” Gracia asks with a laugh. She pulls away from Hughes and holds her arms open. With a more than sheepish look, Roy makes his way over to her and lets her hug him, returning the gesture somewhat reluctantly. He’s not used to hugs. He thought his parents might have hugged him when he was alive and Madam Christmas did so on occasion when he was young and his older sisters at the bar certainly did, but these days…

Roy is more of a handshaker than a hugger these days.

“The jerk came in town for a meeting and didn’t even tell me,” Hughes says with a sniff.

“I didn’t want to intrude on you all or anything,” Roy explains.

Gracia puts her hands on her hips. “Foolish man - that’s nonsense and you know it. You’re always welcome here.” She smiles at him in a manner that reminds him of Hughes. It’s the type of smile that says she knows more than she’s letting on, but unlike Hughes, she’ll let it go and leave him be. “You’re staying for dinner, yes?”

“If it’s too much of a hassle–”

“Honestly, Roy,” Gracia huffs as she walks into the kitchen. “I make extra anyways – and I’m sure Maes would like a night where he isn’t outnumbered at the dinner table.”

“I quite like having my girls all to myself, thank you very much,” Hughes informs her. As Elicia begins to squirm in his arms, he sets her down and watches as she scampers off to be with her mother. He turns to waggle his eyebrows and wink at Roy. “But having a drinking companion would be nice for once. Bourbon?”

Roy grins faintly. “Only if it’s the good stuff. I don’t drink swill.”

Hughes scoffs, walking into the living room. “That promotion to Colonel is already going to your head, I see.”

Standing to the side, Roy watches as Hughes grabs a bottle and two glasses out of a cabinet that is strategically out of Elicia’s reach. He pours two drinks, waves the bottle in Roy’s face to assure him that it is indeed not swill, and then puts it back in its place. After handing Roy his drink, Hughes takes a sip of his own and sighs in content.

“Gracia not a bourbon drinker?” Roy asks with a smirk before taking a sip.

“She’s more into wine,” Hughes says as he sits down on the couch.

“That’s good too,” Roy replies, sitting down across from him in a chair.

Hughes returns with his own smirk. “Careful now, Roy, or you’ll sound like you have a problem.”

Just enjoying what little I can, Roy almost says, but he manages to nip it in his mind. He doesn’t even know where the thought came from. He has a lot - a lot more than many people his age. He’s got an incredible job that he likes for the most part, a loyal team underneath him, a cozy apartment paid by an admittedly ridiculous salary, talents that are beyond most people’s minds, very good looks, something of a family that is there for him, good friends…

If Roy allows himself to be cocky, he can say that he has more money, better looks, more skills, and a brighter future for his career than Hughes.

Then why in the hell does it feel like Hughes has more than he ever will?

“How do you do it?” Roy asks before he can stop himself.

Hughes tilts his head curiously. “Do what? My job? It’s pretty damn easy, to be honest.”

“No, you dumbass.” Roy waves a hand about awkwardly. “How do you do…this?”

“Ah.” Hughes takes another drink, this one longer than the first. He leans back, puts an ankle on his leg, and then rests his glass on the side of his propped up knee. “I really don’t know. I’ve just always wanted this and for a minute I didn’t think I was going to be able to have it, so now that I do, it’s easy to appreciate every day.”

Roy swirls the bourbon around in the glass. “Don’t you feel…?”

“Guilty?” Hughes finishes. Roy connects eyes with him and nods his head. “No, I don’t.”

Snorting, Roy looks down at the liquor again. “And here I’ve been told that I’m the cold-hearted one.”

“It’s hard to feel guilty when I love them so much,” Hughes points out. “Could Gracia do better than a murderer like me? Oh, you bet. But the one time I was drunk enough to admit that, before she was pregnant, Gracia got so upset with me that I got a cab back to HQ and slept in my office.” Though it certainly doesn’t sound like a happy memory to Roy, a dreamy smile crosses Hughes’ face. “I woke up to her sitting down on the ground beside the couch, sleeping with her head on my chest and a bottle of aspirin in her hand.”

It’s just a perfect mental picture that it makes Roy want to drain his drink in one go, despite the fact that you don’t shoot good bourbon. Instead, he swallows the bad taste in his mouth and shoves the strange feeling in his chest deep down where he can’t find it for a while. “Sounds sweet,” he finally settles on saying in his blandest voice.

“You’ll get it one day,” Hughes tells him. “I know you don’t think you deserve it after everything, but you’re a good man, Roy. You deserve some light in your life. And I know you’re not as heartless as you like to pretend. You’re a man, not as island.”

“You think I want what you have?” Roy counters, harsher than he would’ve liked. “Like I’m jealous?”

It doesn’t even make Hughes bat an eye as he stares him down. “I think you want what you can’t have.” The look on his face is infuriatingly gentle. Roy would’ve punched him in the face for looking at him like that when they were back in the Academy. Now it just makes his stomach want to turn. “And right now, for whatever reasons, this is something you refuse to allow yourself to have.”

Roy thinks of the charred bodies in Ishval, the ashes in the air, the heat of his flames that he dazedly thought might turn the sand into glass. He thinks of Riza – the brightness of her smile and the clearness of her laugh, the way her hands felt as he said goodbye at the train station both times, the haunted look in her amber eyes, the beautiful array on her back that he destroyed at her will, her unwavering loyalty and the shadows of all those good things in their past that he sees in her now, things he has no right to anymore. It was their decision.

It doesn’t make him want or hurt any less.

“I could never do this,” Roy says instead. “It’s not me.”

God knows if it ever will.

* * *

_v. kindness_

Riza finds Roy sleeping in the most improbable position in a chair: head tilted back, arms folded, slouched to the side, and mouth wide open. He’s snoring, although not loudly enough to disturb the other sleeping person in the room. Rolling her eyes, she shuts the door behind her and slips into the room without a sound. Not that it would matter if she makes any noise; she doubts it would wake either of them. The person in the bed is under some heavy medication, after all, while the man in the chair can’t be woken up short of an alarm being blared.

For a moment, she takes the time to examine the rare scene. Roy would be mortified if he knew that anyone saw him in such a…kind position. He doesn’t want anyone getting the idea that he might actually give a damn about the kid lying unconscious in the bed in front of him. He likes it when people question him whether or not he cares that one of his subordinates is a literal child. He smirks when said child accuses him of being a cold-hearted bastard. It works to his benefit when a higher up assumes that he’s careless.

Except, of course, Riza knows that it’s a complete farce.

Roy gives a damn - he gives a lot more than a damn, to be honest - to the point that it pains him. No man can come up with the plan to become the leader of a country in order to protect everyone below him and right the sins of his past and not care. He’s got so much heart, so much more than anyone can ever understand, and she wishes sometimes that she could help him bear the weight of that heart more than she does. She told him that she would help him carry the innocent through a river of blood with him, if need be, and yet he tries so hard to do everything on his own.

To spare her the pain he has already put her through. She imagines he hopes that he’s doing her a kindness, if only because he doesn’t want to hurt her anymore. What a ridiculous man.

He cares about his subordinates a lot more than his aloof nature lets on; he’s nowhere near being cold-hearted, although she can admit that he’s a bit of a bastard; and while he has a habit of being lazy and procrastinating, he’s not careless. Roy will never say that he is a kind man, but she sees it in the way he stayed with Edward all night to watch over him until he ended up falling asleep.

Knowing that she can’t delay the inevitable much longer, Riza steps up next to him and puts a hand on his shoulder to shake him. Roy’s eyes blink open blearily for a moment until his mind registers what is going on and then he sits up straight and looks up at her. “Yes, Lieutenant?” There is only a hint of sleepiness left in his voice and his eyes appear mostly alert, but there’s no hiding the fact that he was knocked out cold just seconds ago.

Deciding to do him a kindness of her own, Riza pretends not to know that. “Alphonse is back with Edward’s things.”

“Right, yes, of course,” Roy says. He puts his hands on his knees and then pushes himself up into the standing position, smoothing out any wrinkles in his uniform. His jacket is hanging over the back of the chair. He looks so open standing just in his military pants and a wrinkled white shirt. “I didn’t think it wise to leave Fullmetal alone. No doubt he would’ve tried sneaking out if he woke up and wasn’t being guarded.”

The explanation isn’t necessary and while technically it isn’t wrong, it isn’t the truth either. Roy has always been quite exceptional at stretching the truth and splitting hairs. He doesn’t lie to her and he doesn’t lie to Edward - not outright, at least. She wonders where that talent came from – if it has been a part of him all along or if he learned it from being groomed by Grumman or raised by his foster mother.

Riza smiles faintly. “That’s very kind of you, sir. I’m sure a nurse could’ve done the same job.”

Okay, so maybe she isn’t going to entirely let him off the hook for this. Roy does not give a damn about Edward’s journey to get his brother’s body back and his limbs - Roy does not care about the well-being of his subordinate - Roy most certainly doesn’t go out of his way at times to make sure that they’re okay without letting them know that he’s making sure they’re okay. Roy is a heartless, arrogant, manipulative bastard. And as long as Edward sees him that way, then he’s better off, safer even.

But it’s still fun to watch Roy bristle at the mere idea that he cares about someone.


End file.
